


A Cunning Trap

by masulevin



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, LITERALLY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: When Alistair steps in yet another spring trap during a fight with some darkspawn, Elissa helps to cheer him up.





	A Cunning Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sloth_Race](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sloth_Race/gifts).



It’s not exactly Alistair’s fault -- he never looks at his feet when he’s walking, much less when he’s trying to charge into battle against some darkspawn. He just tries to keep his eyes on his surroundings to make sure he’s not getting flanked by anything, to make sure that the rest of their party is safe as they slog through the Ferelden countryside.

It _also_ isn’t his fault that Elissa and Leliana never point out the traps on the ground until it’s too late, until he’s about two seconds from one.

Sometimes he has the presence of mind to jump or to swerve to the side, avoiding the trigger…

Sometimes…

He hears the metallic snap of the trap springing before he feels the pain of its sharp teeth digging into his calf, breaking through the leather of his trousers to bite into skin and muscle. He roars in fury, trying to tear his leg free of the trap but only succeeding in making it tighter.

Elissa’s head snaps toward the sound, knives in her hands ripping free of the darkspawn closest to her as it falls at her feet with a shower of dark blood. She pivots, boots digging into the soft earth as she turns to run back to Alistair’s side, but a hurlock knocks her back as it runs past her to attack Alistair where he’s trapped.

A spell brushes by his ear, the magic making him shiver and the hairs on the back of his neck raise as he tries to duck to the side. It hits the hurlock square in the chest, ice shooting out from the point of impact and freezing its armor but not slowing it down much.

Alistair raises his sword and tries to brace himself on his good leg, but the clash of metal on metal doesn’t slow the hurlock down and they both fall to the ground with a sickening thud and another scream tears from Alistair’s throat as the trap holds his foot to the ground and tears something in his knee instead of releasing him.

He drops his sword and punches the hurlock in the face, desperation making him claw at the monster’s eyes in a bid for freedom. Elissa is on them in a moment, teeth bared in a snarl as she slashes the darkspawn’s throat and kicks him away from Alistair’s prostrate form.

He grins up at the picture she paints -- hair a wild mess from the fight, eyes wide and wild, blood across her face and down her front -- and asks, “Are you hurt?”

She glares at him. “Am _I_ hurt?” she snaps, dropping to her knees beside him and swatting angrily at his shoulder. “Am I _hurt?”_ she repeats, waving at Wynne to join them. “You’re unbelievable.” She continues her muttering as gentle fingers probe at his injured leg, icy eyes flashing as he sucks in his breath at the newer burst of pain.

“I told you there was a trap there,” Leliana says, lilting voice tinged with worry. Alistair opens his eyes to peer up at where she’s bent over at the waist, hands on her knees, looking down at him. “You should be more careful!”

“I’ll remember that next time,” Alistair spits out through clenched teeth, and Leliana grins down at him.

Wynne uses her staff to help her lower herself to her knees by his feet, and almost immediately he feels the cool wash of her magic moments before another sharp pain makes him bite his tongue. Elissa sits back next to him and then her slender fingers are on his face, gently patting him and leaving smears of blood behind.

“I got the trap open,” she says, voice soft. “Wynne is going to do what she can so you can walk back to camp.”

Alistair nods up at her, then squeezes his eyes closed as the feeling of Wynne’s magic increases, growing painful as it begins knitting flesh and bone back together. He doesn’t realize he’s clenched his hands into fists until Elissa takes one in hers, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles.

It’s almost enough to distract him from the pain radiating up his leg to his hip, or the separate, duller pain radiating from the left side of his chest that signals damaged ribs, or the pain at the back of his head and in his shoulder from where he landed under the hurlock.

He didn’t even kill _one_ darkspawn and this is the most injured he’s been in _weeks_.

The realization sours his mood, turning his mouth down at the corners as he grits his teeth and waits for the healing to be over.

When it finally is, Elissa and Leliana help him to his feet. Elissa slips her arm around his waist and lets him lean against her, taking some of his weight off of his injured leg. It’s better than it was, certainly, and nothing that a good night’s rest and some elfroot won’t cure, but it’s still… uncomfortable.

Leliana slips away to support Wynne, and the four of them make their way back to camp just as night begins to fall.

Elissa helps him to his tent, setting him on his bedroll before immediately moving to help strip him of his armor. It badly needs to be cleaned before the leather and metal begin to wear down, but neither of them are worried about that yet.

As soon as she has Alistair in just his shirt and trousers, she starts to poke at him again, feeling for more wounds that she can help him with.

He hisses as she accidentally presses too hard on a bruise and scoots away from her the best he can, only feeling the slightest bit of guilt at the hurt look in her eyes when she sees him glaring at her. “That hurts, Lis,” he says, a pout on his lips and a whine in his voice.

She places on delicate hand on his good knee and squeezes softly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You had a hard day.”

He’s not sure if she’s being serious or not, but he nods either way, and she continues exploring. She finds the bruises on his side and back, the swollen knee, the broken nails. Each touch, though light, makes him grunt -- first in pain and then in irritation.

“Leliana said she would help Wynne make some healing potions,” she says finally, done surveying him. “They probably won’t be ready for a while. You should lay down and rest.”

Alistair wrinkles his nose at her, ignoring the way she smiles back. “It hurts to move,” he grouses. “It hurts to lie down.”

Elissa laughs softly and shakes her head, taking the time to remove her own lighter armor and putting it by his. “That’s what happens when you step into a bear trap, Al,” she says.

This earns her an eye roll from her injured companion, and he carefully lowers himself down onto his back to stare up at the ceiling of his tent. After a moment, he groans theatrically and then huffs when it just makes Elissa giggle again.

“Everything hurts,” he complains again, then opens one eye when he hears her moving around again. She comes to kneel over him, planting one hand on the fabric behind his head to stare down at him.

“ ‘Everything’?” she echoes. “Is there anywhere that doesn’t hurt?”

He opens his other eye, pauses, pretends to consider. “Here?” he lifts his good arm to point at his forehead.

Elissa hums quietly, then leans down to kiss the spot he indicated.

Alistair feels his cheeks warm under her attentions, his heart doing a funny little jump in his chest. When she pulls away, he taps the tip of his nose. “And here.”

The twisting of her lips let him know she knows what he’s doing, but she gives in anyway. She leans down again and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. Her lips are soft against his heated skin and he bites back the sigh that wants to leave his lips.

She doesn’t pull back as far this time, waiting for… something. For him to point out another place that doesn’t hurt, maybe, or permission to give him a real kiss.

He bites at the inside of his lips to keep from smiling, forcing his face to stay surly even though the discomfort radiating through his body is paling as Elissa fills his senses. Locking eyes with her, he lifts his hand once more to brush two fingers over his lips. She glances down at them, then back up to his eyes with a single raised eyebrow.

“Here, too.”

There’s a moment of silence before she says, “Ah,” and then leans down to slot their mouths together.

She lingers over him, though they both still taste like blood and sweat from the road. He lifts his good hand to slide his fingers into her hair, holding her against him, and he feels her lips curving as she smiles into the kiss.

“A _hem._ Wynne sent me over with a healing potion!”

Elissa jumps away at Leliana’s voice, and Alistair finds himself frowning again. Leliana is standing in the open tent flap, a huge grin on her face, a small vial in one hand. She offers it to Elissa, who accepts it, then continues to stand in the opening.

“I hope I did not interrupt anything!” she says, voice full of laughter and eyes shining in a way that makes Elissa’s face turn a blotchy red and Alistair loose a growling sigh. Leliana takes a step back and lets the flap fall closed, her laughter drifting away from the tent.

Elissa pulls the cork from the vial and hands it to Alistair, who drinks it down without sitting up. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, and then takes the vial away again when he’s done.

He groans as the warmth of the elfroot mixture fills him, tingling a little around his wounds as it begins to work immediately.

He holds out his hand, and she takes it in hers. He tugs her until she leans against his side and kisses her palm.

“I don’t suppose…” he starts, speaking against her hand so that his lips tickle her skin, “that there are any places on _you_ that don’t hurt?”

She rests her forehead against his shoulder and giggles helplessly at his attempt at seduction. He waits patiently for her to calm down, grinning up at the canvas ceiling. After a moment, she props herself up on her elbow and cups his cheek to draw his gaze back to hers.

“Maybe you should find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to Indiana Jones.


End file.
